Subscribe and Lend Me Your Eyes by C. Feng
[Your account has been suspended due to a contravention of the Gen-I-Rate Guidelines. Your View-Bank has been debited 1,000 units. We will notify you when your account has been reactivated. If you would like to appeal this suspension please contact your Gen-I-Rate account manager]
“Shit! What the hell is this?” Jimmy shouted aloud as he reread the short message. The black message box had frozen his premium content editing app, just as he was starting to enter a flow state. He blinked vigorously, trying to refresh his Content Creator Hub. Nothing. He tried again another three times. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Damn it. Halfway through some of my best work on that woo-woo ‘dream analysis’ channel and now it’s all gone, he thought. He had promised his viewers ‘BEAUTIFUL, LYRICAL DESTRUCTION’ to accompany their Friday night slop. And now they were gonna be pissed. And without those extra view units, his mom would be wheeled out of the private clinic by week’s end and left to rot in the street. Hot prickles of anxiety began to surge up Jimmy’s back, as he broke out in a cold sweat. Not freaking good, he thought.
Cycling back to the Gen-I-Rate dashboard, Jimmy found to his dismay that all of his apps were greyed out. Yard Time Booker, Entertainment, Real News, Dating/Mating<3, Meal time – he couldn’t open anything. Super not freaking good. Jimmy began a frantic search for the remote the Gen-I-Rate service agent had handed him after his mandatory integration appointment. He recalled the stiff consultant’s words. “While incredibly rare, things can and do go wrong,” the emotionless employee had said, passing him a small white box. “This device is your insurance policy. Please ensure that anyone sharing your Pod knows at least the basic reset com….”.
“Why the hell would I need that? You said that I control everything from up here?” Jimmy had interrupted, tapping his temple. “Well, you see…” began the consultant as he watched Jimmy swiftly turn and walk out of the room, making no attempt to stop him. Jimmy closed his eyes and sighed as he remembered how yet again, his bone-headedness had cost him. Had he listened, he might have learned that the remote had some hidden hard reset button, or some combination of clicks that would beam a customer service agent to his door in minutes. But as always, he hadn’t listened.
Jimmy swiped his hands through dusty drawers and kicked his feet through piles of dirty clothing, in a desperate attempt to locate the small remote. He searched high and low, his heart racing from the exertion and adrenaline. Nothing. Panting, he straightened himself up and scanned his small pod. It was a sorry sight. The light blue coloured walls – which were said to encourage “docility and amiability” amongst the housing compound’s residents – had peeled back to reveal crumbling, wet concrete and rebar. Covering the walls were crude engravings left by past occupants. The scrawlings told stories of desperation, mania, and the occasional profession of love. Adding to the pod’s prison cell-like feel were countless objects wedged irretrievably into every crack and crevice. Bits of plastic, bottle caps, folded love letters made the walls look like they had been tarred and rolled over a rubbish tip. What Jimmy had affectionately referred to as his “Bunker of Blues” now disgusted him. He wondered how he had ever thought his squalid hovel “had character”.
Giving up his search, Jimmy became painfully aware of the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He was famished, and didn’t have the slightest idea when he had last eaten. These sudden onsets of dire hunger were becoming all too common, and it was all because of his growing obsession with building his growing streaming presence. The surging subscriber numbers and attention – teetering on celebrity worship – was intoxicating and had caught him completely off-guard, fueling his relentless drive to create at the expense of all else. At times he’d drag himself to his cot in a sleepy red-eyed stupor, and begin drifting off to sleep, only to find himself writhing in pain, remembering that he had not eaten anything the entire day. Some food and then I’ll be able to think clearly, he thought as he shuffled over to his dented little fridge. Yanking the door open, he found a half tub of sour yoghurt and two slices of furry margarita pizza. Jimmy’s stomach grumbled. He tried his Meal Time app to no avail. So this is how it ends. I’m gonna starve, he thought.
“Starley, ya gotta help me. I’m cut off,” Jimmy yelled through the small crack in his bedroom wall. Jimmy pressed his ear against the crack and felt the cold sensation of concrete against his skin. He heard a low buzzing from Starley’s aging appliances and felt an instant relief. She was home.
“I’m gonna starve. Cmon, I know you’re there”.
“Jeez, hold on. I’ve nearly finished my view quota. And can’t you come into my pod to speak to me? You might as well – I can smell your breath through the crack”. On hearing her voice, Jimmy leapt up and bolted towards Starley’s pod, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas. His shaking fingers punched in the guest pin she’d given to him on the small pad at her door and burst into her room.
“What does it mean? What’s gonna happen? My mom…” Jimmy said.
“Easy, easy. What’s going on? Damn it, it’s about time I changed that pin. I said life or death situations only!” Starley said, swivelling her chair around to face Jimmy.
“My account’s suspended! Nothing’s working. Can’t go anywhere, can’t order any grub, and can’t even make content! It was going so well. People LOVED ME… I mean, they were starting to love me. And now I’m gonna starve”.
“Suspended? That can’t be right. I didn’t even know that was possible. What did you do? Kill someone on a live broadcast?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I offended someone important. Shit, I’ve been flying way too close to the sun. On the bright side, I don’t have to meet my view quota”.
“You’re unable to feed yourself and you’re focusing on your daily view quota?” she said sarcastically.
“Worst part of my day,” said Jimmy.
“What about my stuff? About time you subbed given all the shit you’ve put me through. People are really getting into my cleaning ASMR. My subs have been telling me that it makes them feel very productive. All the mental benefits of a hard day’s work without lifting a finger,” she said, sitting cross-legged in her obnoxious lip-stick red armchair.
“Wouldn’t watch a minute of it for an ice-front mansion on Mars,” Jimmy said.
“Okay, Mr Hot Shit. But what about, like, a little shout-out when you’re back online?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
Jimmy threw both of his hands against the wall and looked down at the ground. “You’re right. What the hell are we even talking about? Some jackboot’s probably gonna burst into my pod at any moment and rearrange my face and we’re talking about you cleaning your bathroom in front of some faceless creeps?!”
“Hmmm, I see your problem. But…” Starley said trailing off.
“OK, OK. I’ll give you a little bump next time I go to air. That’s if I’m not dead and buried by day’s end,” Jimmy said.
“Yus!” Starley said fist pumping the air. “Alright, lemme think. I’ll give Dave a call. You know the ex-Gen guy who streams himself washing stray cats?”
“Are you for real? That nut job doesn’t like me at all. Remember that gathering we had to remember Tommy? How he blasted me for supposedly ratting him out to the gestapo in front of everyone? He probably wants me 6 feet under,” Jimmy said.
“Oh, would you quit it? He’s my guy, and he’s chill with you. He’s just a bit of a drinker; gets a bit emotional when he’s on the hard stuff. Don’t take it personally. And besides, it looks like you have much of a choice in the matter,”
Jimmy sighed. “Alright, fine. But don’t tell him it’s about me. Say it’s for your sister or something”.
“You know I don’t have a sister. Whatever, I’ll say it’s for Alice. Ok, now be quiet. I need to concentrate,” she said, shaking out her shoulders and sinking further into the red armchair. She tilted her head back and her eyes glazed over.
Jimmy studied Starley’s motionless figure and felt a pang of worry. She was skinnier than the last time he had seen her. Much skinnier. Jesus, could she afford to buy herself anything even remotely nutritious with her meager subscription base? Jimmy thought. He resolved to treat her to something nice when all of this blew over. A big, healthy hamper full of chow that she would probably turn her nose up at.
She wore her typical outfit: one of her late father’s oversized grey sweaters, ill-fitting denim shorts held up with a black shoelace, and frayed bright-pink socks. Her short, snow-white dyed hair all but confirmed that her fashion-sense had never left the ‘rebellious teenager’ phase. And she could still pull it off if you didn’t look too closely. Close to 30, and still dressing like she wants to piss her dead Dad off, Jimmy thought. But who was he to judge, he, who was a slave to the ever-changing fashion directives of the top fashion streamers. At least she was her own person. In keeping with the recent trends, Jimmy had swapped out the preppy wool sweaters and ironed chinos for the bearded lumberjack look. His mother, upon seeing his new look for the first time, had cackled so hard that the nurses appeared at her bedside.
“Ah, so you’re a woodsman now? You look just like your grandfather did, but I doubt he ever touched a tree in his life. Just like you,” she said. It was comments like this that made Jimmy resent his mother. Her seemingly unending misfortunes, acidic jibes and tireless self-pity and worst of all, her ungratefulness grated on him. Though, as hard as he tried, he could not shake his overwhelming sense of obligation towards her.
After her fall he was left with no choice but to leave her in a government-run care facility. “I can barely fill my own stomach right now, Mom. I’m sorry. But I’ll find a way, you’ll be out of here soon,” he’d promised his mother.
Then after a few days in the facility she called him in a panic. “They’re putting people to sleep, Jim. Hand on heart, these people around me… healthy ones, just a broken leg or a hip… They ain’t waking up,” she’d whispered, so as to not be overheard by the staff. Jimmy had made good on his promise through an old loan shark friend, and had her discharged that day. What other choice did he have?
Jimmy felt a small, sharp sting on his arm, launching him back to reality. The culprit was a small black hair tie that dropped to the ground. “Bull’s-eye!” Starley yelped, as she aimed another hair tie at Jimmy. “Yoohoo, earth to space cadet”.
“Yeh, yeh. Thanks a lot. I was just daydreaming about a place called ‘anywhere but here’. Did you hear anything from Dave? You were out for a hot minute, surely he told ya something useful,” Jimmy said, eyes now focused on his grinning assailant.
“Oh, yeah… that. Well, he told me he has no idea what you’re dealing with – so can’t do anything for you. But we did talk a lot about his sister. Apparently they’re releasing her from her complex – back to the big outside world! Pretty scary if you ask me. It’s a pity though, her content was starting to get pretty good. I wonder what she’ll do on the outside. She’s pretty in that catwalk kinda way. Maybe she’ll model for one of those corporate wear operations”. Jimmy stared at her incredulously, and she looked up at her Dad’s vintage Casio clock. “Sheesh, looks like I was talking for a while. Sorry”.
“Thanks alot,” Jimmy said.
Starley extended the hair tie back, eyes twinkling in defiance, ready to launch another attack. It was a look that Jimmy never grew tired of, and Starley knew it. “Why do you always look at me like that?” she teased. “I actually think you’re in love with me. You’ve made this whole thing up just to get into my pod, haven’t you”.
“Oh sureeee. No, it’s just… That stupid look of yours – it puts me right back there, to that night. I can’t help it,” Jimmy said.
“You mean the Night of the Idiots?” asked Starley with a frown. “Yeah,” Jimmy responded. The unflattering name she had given to the night that they had met was not without merit. Jimmy, who had been drinking in the street alone when the mob passed by, had attached himself to its rear for no other reason than that he wanted some company. Little did he know that he was following a rag-tag revolutionary group who had set out for their maiden protest against the mandatory integration of all citizens with the Gen-I-Rate system. My kinda people, he had thought, looking upon the snarling faces and angry shouts. Less than five minutes into his virgin march, Jimmy had seen her. She was amazing, with eyes blazing atop a makeshift stage yelling profanities and anti-government slogans at the approaching jackboots. Clearly entranced by revolutionary fervour, Starley willed the mass forward towards the steadily marching soldiers. Jimmy recalled her being tackled cleanly off the stage in a flash by one of the Jackboot leaders, and being pinned to the wet asphalt. A group of Jackboots began raining down blows upon her small body demanding that she identify herself. “NAME. SECTION. IDENTITY CODE,” they repeated over and over. Bloodied and bruised, she continued her chorus of insults as she was carried away. It was a triumphant scene that stoked the flames of hatred within the hearts of the protesters, but was ultimately of little use; they were to be rounded up within the hour.
For his part, Jimmy’s capture had been far less heroic. He had been part of a far less committed contingent of stragglers who had allowed themselves to be herded into an alleyway and arrested. Days later, the protestors were efficiently processed and confined to giant, aging social housing compounds spread across Section 27. Jimmy had pleaded against his arrest, arguing that he had no idea what the protest was about and that he would be the first to line up for Gen-I-rate integration. But his arguments fell on deaf ears.
The incarcerated were meticulously mixed based on risk-level: High-risk individuals were housed in pods next to low-risk individuals to reduce the possibility of further trouble. And by chance, Jimmy and Starley were placed in neighbouring pods, which spoke volumes of their respective levels of danger to the system. Unsurprisingly, their friendship developed rapidly. They bonded over their abject living conditions, misfortunes and experiences surviving on the fringes of society.
Jimmy glanced towards Starley’s fridge, feeling like he was about to pass out from hunger. Starley watched him stare at the fridge, her half-smile unable to hide her genuine concern.
“There’s food in there. Help yourself,” she said.
Jimmy shot her a grateful look and walked over to the small neon-lit fridge. He stopped and looked back at her, taking in her gaunt frame. A wave of guilt rushed over him. But what could he do? He was beginning to lose his ability to think straight. Just something small to tide me over for now. Then when this is all done I’ll stock her fridge up to the brim. Heck, that and I’ll buy her another fridge, he thought. Starley’s fridge was full of grubby fingerprints and dried splashes of coffee. Not promising. Jimmy opened the fridge, finding a stack of Nutri-Bars and energy drinks. He helped himself to a Nutri-Bar.
“You know, you’re doin’ me a favour. I hate that cheap stuff, but it does the trick when you’re low on view credits. I was practically living on them when I transitioned to my new content and all my subs disappeared. But you probably wouldn’t know much about that, Mr fine dining,” Starley said as Jimmy wolfed the tasteless bar down.
“Not half-bad,” Jimmy said appreciatively. “And if by ‘fine dining’ you mean barely eating anything, you’d be spot on”.
“Glad ya like it. So. What are you gonna do?” Starley said.
“I gotta do something else. The takedowns are done. Maybe the Gen-I-Rate big-wigs know something we don’t. Maybe there’s too much negativity going ‘round, and it’s starting to mess with things… like socially”.
“The hell are you gonna do, though? All you know how to do is be an asshole. You can’t create. You’re more of an arsonist… A burner-downer,” Starley said.
“Shut up. This isn’t a joke”.
“Yeah, sorry. Couldn’t help it”.
Starley was right. All Jimmy had ever done was complain and critique. The only subject he had done well at in school was Debating, which naturally, he took to with gusto. Heck, the teacher would often have to calm him down after giving other students such verbal beatings that they were reduced to tears. “Let’s not get personal”, the teacher would say, quietly pleased at Jimmy’s passion. Maybe he could pivot into a self-help channel of some sorts, he thought. Yeah, he could focus on trite life lessons like how to stop caring about what other people think or how to get rid of self-doubt. He’d put a hard-edged, non-PC spin on it, he thought. It’d be a natural transition from his previous content. He’d be a winner.
“Self-help. That’s it! Self-help. It’s gonna be even bigger and better than the trash I’m doing now. Why didn’t I think of this before – it’s brilliant. I’m gonna be the next big guru. I’ll call my account manager and tell her all about it. It’s positive, fresh. I’ll be reactivated, no question.”, Jimmy said, puffing his chest out. Starley started to chuckle.
“Nobody will take advice from you,” she chortled. “And besides, you won’t be able to stop yourself from laughing when you’re all robed up and putting on that stupid breathy voice”. Starley crossed her legs and started pretending to meditate.
“No, I’m not talking about that New Age Guided Meditation crap our grandparents were into. I mean, something not totally different from what I’m doing now, but instead of…”
“Instead of just being a dick, you’re a dick sharing empowering lessons about how to escape this meaningless existence we find ourselves in?”
“Yeah, something like that,” said Jimmy, helping himself to an EgoBolt energy drink from the fridge.
“Hey! I said food. I can only afford Ego’s on special; and they’re never on special”. Jimmy paid no attention to Starley’s protest as he rotated the can to inspect the moving image of a muscled man. He was mouthing some cliched inspirational aphorisms while vigorously shadowboxing. Oh come on. Surely Gen-I-Rate knows that this shit doesn’t work on people. Jimmy took a closer look at the ripped, tanned specimen. I know that shit-eating grin. Jimmy froze. Staring back at him was the fitfluencer he had made a vicious takedown video on; a video scheduled to be released this evening! Jimmy tapped into his Gen-I-Rate hub, trying to remove the video. If that goes out I’m absolutely wrecked – forget the suspension. He tried in vain to open the Hub, but everything was greyed out.
Starley looked over at Jimmy, whose body had become rigid, his eyes glazed over. Despite being largely unconscious to the happenings around him, he looked troubled. It was obvious that he was desperately trying to do something important on his Hub.
“Able to access anything, Jimmy? Try to order us some Chinese if you get in. You owe me… Hey, that’s weird, I’m getting a prompt that you’re broadcasting,” she said.
Starley’s eyes glazed over and she blinked three times, transferring the broadcast to the screen behind her. Jimmy’s rage-filled face appeared on the large screen, as her once glazed over eyes reverted back to normal.
“Hey, you’re being featured! 100K people are tuning in live. Look at the reactions… Your attention stats are off the chart! You’re killing it!”, Starley said with excitement.
“… And what’s with those puffed-up, hairy ass biceps, big guy? I bet you can’t even wipe your ass, you gorilla-looking freak”, shouted Jimmy’s frothing image, which covered almost the entire screen.
Jimmy stared at the screen in awe of his newfound fame. He’d made it, or in the very least, was making it. But what about the suspension? The contravention of the guidelines?What the hell even were the guidelines?
Jimmy felt a faint buzz at the back of his skull. Someone was trying to call him. In his dazed state he answered the call without checking the ID.
“Jimmy, it’s Alice, your account manager. We need to talk right now”.
C. Feng sends silly emails by day and writes short stories by night. Hailing from the land down under, they enjoy imagining dystopian futures with a humorous bent.